Crystal Island

By Gillian Leggat

Who is Amanda Patters really? What is her actual purpose for sending ten ‘seekers’ to an idyllic but extremely remote Indian Ocean island? Why would anyone want to spend seventy days completely cut off from the world?
Through the eyes of her protagonist, Sarah Blake, Gillian Leggat explores life on a remote island which has its fair share of dangers and dramas, explores human nature when it is stripped of all 21st-century conveniences and delves into fundamental questions about life.
Good is pitted against evil as two groups with vastly different purposes battle it out for the conquest not only of souls but also of bodies. Which group will ultimately triumph, and at what cost to both the individual ‘seekers’ and the local inhabitants? Will justice prevail? And will any of the characters finally discover the true meaning of life?
This thought-provoking original novel will appeal to readers who enjoy surprises as they journey with the characters to search for answers to life’s mysteries.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Nov 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781398409675

Gillian Leggat

Gillian Leggat is an educator and the prolific author of more than 80 books in a wide variety of genres, including adult fiction and non-fiction, young adult novels, educational material and children’s picture books. She has a particular interest in creating picture books for young children. The Biggest Blessing is her second picture book published by Austin Macauley (Star Bright was her first). Gillian lives in Cape Town where she tutors English and writes her books. She enjoys swimming, hiking, attending her local church and going to the theatre, ballet and opera. She has three adult children and two grandchildren.

Book preview

Twenty-Three

About the Author

Gillian Leggat is the prolific author of more than seventy published books. Crystal Island is her fifth title with Austin Macauley. Gillian's career as a writer and English teacher spans many decades. Presently she tutors students preparing for the Cambridge Examinations. She has designed and delivered a variety of writing courses for an adult education centre based in Cape Town, where she lives. She has three adult children and one grandchild. Gillian enjoys attending cultural events, being involved in her local church and walking on the beach.

Dedication

For Jennie, Robert, Susan and Clara

Copyright Information ©

Gillian Leggat (2020)

The right of Gillian Leggat to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398409668 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398409675 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2020)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LQ

Chapter One

Had it not been for her anxiety about time galloping forward like the favourite race-horse, Sarah would not have been so desperate about seeking a new direction in her life. Defeat was not an option for her. Divorced. Jobless. Directionless. But determined. Her pick-me-up coffee lay cooling on the table while she flipped through the classifieds for the ideal job, the one that would take the edge off her loneliness, give her life some purpose and make her feel better about what she had done.

Some days, she regretted her impulsive decision to resign from her teaching post. At these times, she found herself wondering where her life was going and what she was doing on this earth. Other days, her future lay before her like a vast, shifting ocean. When she looked ahead, possibilities beckoned her tantalisingly, promising her some excitement and variety.

This particular Friday, April 15th, 2010, she felt rather reckless, on the look-out for an ad with a guarantee of adventure: a completely out-of-her-comfort-zone opportunity that would spice up her life.

Her eyes flicked down column after column of job offers, but none of them appealed to her. There were ads by the dozen for waitressing, many ‘business opportunities’ that sounded suspiciously like pyramid schemes and some colourfully-worded appeals for ‘hostesses’ which made her cheeks burn. To put it mildly, none of these ads would get her any closer to her quest for significance!

She was about to toss the paper aside when a large square advertisement dominating two columns in the personal section caught her eye: ’Discover your destiny. Explore Crystal Island with fellow-seekers. Meet at the White Community Hall at 19:00 on Friday April 15th to uncover the true meaning of life.’

However mind-numbingly clichéd the ad might be, her curiosity was piqued; besides, she had nothing better to do that night and she rather liked the idea of being surrounded by ‘fellow-seekers’ who, like her, might be searching to discover their sense of purpose.

A glance at her watch told her that she didn’t have much time. Reluctantly discarding her caffeine, she made a lightning-quick change into some jeans and a sea-blue top that reminded her of carefree holidays, dabbed some blush on her sallow cheeks and tried unsuccessfully to obliterate the dark lines below her eyes with a touch of base. Pulling a comb through her limp brown hair which she had intended to wash that night, she decided her lick-and-polish effort would just have to do. She did ask herself in a mildly ironic way about what all these mundane daily details had to do with the ‘true meaning of life’. Sighing, she went to the kitchen where she rustled up a ham sandwich and made for the car. Pity her daily actions were filled with such necessary but insignificant trivia. Maybe this meeting and this mysterious island destination would change all that.

But as she travelled towards the meeting-place for would-be ‘seekers’, she considered the nature of that eye-catching advertisement a little more carefully. Had she lost her senses! Was considering this opportunity the most brainless thought she had ever had! Disturbing images of cults and sects flashed through her mind as she nibbled her food in between gear changes and stop streets. Then and there, she planned her exit strategy: parking facing away from the hall and sitting near the back would be her ticket to freedom.

A crowd was the last thing she had expected: the packed parking ground and the car-lined streets around the hall were a big surprise. When she did finally make it inside, in keeping with her scheme for escape, she managed to find a seat near the back and as a bonus, on the aisle. The stage was empty except for an armless upholstered black chair and a microphone. The crowd seemed to be holding its breath, wondering, as she was, what on earth they were all doing there. Just one look at the austere chair on the stage would have convinced anyone with half a brain that entertainment was hardly on the cards for this evening!

At exactly 7 pm, a tall, stern-looking woman walked purposefully out of the wings. Her fitting, knee-length black skirt, tailored black jacket and trim white blouse suggested that she meant business. Her black hair was severely styled and tucked neatly behind her ears. A single ornament adorned the lapel of her jacket: a large crystal brooch in the shape of an island.

She stood in front of the microphone, her feet slightly apart and her back rod-straight. Her clear, firm tone rang out above the up-turned heads: Welcome to the Crystal Island presentation. Let me introduce myself: Amanda Patters is my name and it is my job to inform you about the nature of your forthcoming challenge. You are welcome to ask questions at the end of my presentation; however, anyone impolite enough to interrupt me will be ejected from the hall. For the first time, Sarah noticed the black-clad men stationed in various strategic positions. There were about ten of them. Their intimidating presence made her wonder about her carefully planned exit strategy. But although she was feeling mildly uncomfortable, she decided to focus on the imposing presence on the stage. As she watched the woman casting her eyes imperiously around the rows of gathered ‘seekers’, she realised that she reminded her of one of those old-fashioned, strict headmistresses in the school-girl stories of her childhood.

When Amanda was satisfied that she had everyone’s attention, she continued: You are, of course, welcome to leave at any stage. No-one is keeping you in this place against your will - there was a slight hint at a smile as she paused dramatically - and no-one is forcing you to listen to me, even if it is for your benefit. The mere presence of the men-in-black contradicted what she was so glibly telling them. But still, Sarah stayed put. Now that her curiosity was aroused, she wanted to stick this out to the very end. Amanda’s smile broadened now, almost hypnotic with its promise of as yet unrevealed rewards. Before I continue, I wish to impress on all of you the importance of this moment in your lives. Choosing to go on this expedition may turn out to be the most momentous decision you have ever made.

Oh, please, someone behind Sarah hissed, excuse the clichés!

Cut the emotive hoo-ha and tell us what we’re in for, shouted a tall dark-haired man in front of her.

There were a few jeers and hisses after that and a couple of the men-in-black stepped forward, their arms folded. The crowd didn’t seem inclined to provoke these burly presences, so Amanda continued, only having to raise her voice slightly: Down to the basics then: you want practical details, you can have them. Even from her position right at the back, Sarah could see that Amanda was pursing her lips. Her voice was stridently commanding when she continued: Crystal Island is in the Indian ocean, 13 degrees east and 10 degrees south. It is an isolated place. Before you depart, you will not see any pictures of the island, and you will certainly not find it anywhere on the internet, so don’t even try the search engines.

How was that even possible in today’s world! Was this woman from Mars! Clearly, Sarah wasn’t the only one who didn’t like what she was hearing. There was a scraping of chairs and the first - rather sizeable - group began to hurry out of the hall. Sarah glanced around nervously, but the men-in-black remained, poker-faced, at their stations. Amanda waited until the deserters had all gone before calmly continuing: All tropical Indian ocean islands have the requisite white beaches and palm trees. This island is no exception. However, I can’t promise you luxury. The accommodation is comfortable but plain.

The second exodus happened after that, during which Amanda maintained her intimidating deadpan expression and the men-in-black, like soldiers at attention, held their positions against the wall and at the exits. Amanda leaned forward - just fractionally - before continuing to challenge her audience: If you do wisely decide to enrol in this programme - remember that its purpose is to allow you to uncover the true meaning of life - you will have to commit to seventy days. She nodded knowingly as the third lot of people noisily left their seats. A nose-ringed, muscular teenager with untidy flowing blonde hair tripped over Sarah’s feet, swore and laughingly exclaimed, What a joke. The true meaning of life in seventy days. Is this woman for real!

Although Sarah found herself wondering about the same thing, at that moment, she was more concerned with practical things. She did a quick mental calculation: winter would be over by the time the programme ended; it would be coming into spring, a good time to look for a new job. A tropical island break would fit in well with her plans and as a bonus, she could contemplate the kind of serious stuff that in the hurly-burly everyday activities, she never had time for; she decided that whatever Amanda said, she was going to stick it out even if she was the ‘last man standing!’

Of course, seventy days is very little time for you to drastically change your outlook on life, she continued, but I guarantee that you will come away as different people. Why was Sarah experiencing cold shivers down her spine? How changed would she be when she came off the island? Did she even want to change? Were they going to give her some drug that would alter her perception, making her putty in their hands? In a sense, Amanda’s next words appeared to have anticipated her concerns: You will have no access to any form of drug or alcohol on the island, unless, of course, it is for medicinal purposes. We do have a small medical staff who will deal with issues relating to your health. However, we feel that at all times you need to be thinking clearly: we don’t want anything at all, including alcohol, to detract from your reasoning ability. There will be plenty of ideas to chew over and we want your dialogue to be fruitful and productive. Crystal Island is not exactly ‘high tech’: there are no cell ’phone masts, no television aerials, and not even a radio is permitted on the island.

A place from the middle ages! Sarah laughed to herself as she imagined her best friend, Janey, a techno wizard, existing without technology. The hall was clearing even faster now. Sarah began to wonder whether there would be anyone at all left, except for her, after this talk. She was also amazed that the men-in-black had hardly budged from their positions. Why were they here at all? Was this woman expecting a riot?

Amanda continued in her carefully-modulated voice: There is an extensive library so you will have plenty of good books to choose from. You can swim whenever you want, but there are no elaborate water sports to distract you from the main purpose of your visit there. We guarantee you time to think and to discuss what is really important about your life.

Sarah wasn’t surprised that there was yet another exodus after that inane remark. In the fast-paced, want-it-all-now world, what place did reflection have in nine-out-of-ten people’s lives? Amazingly, these exoduses didn’t seem to ruffle Amanda’s feathers in the slightest. Nor did the men-in-black look even vaguely perturbed about all the people brushing past them in their haste to get away from that hall.

Amanda calmly continued: Your hosts on the island, we will call them Mr X and Mr Y, will remain anonymous. They will speak to you in your communal meeting place, but you will never see them.

Despite her resolve, Sarah had a violent urge to get out of there immediately as many people around her were doing. They were tripping over each other, shoving and pushing in their haste to escape. It was all very well talking about abstract things like the ‘meaning of life’- what did that phrase really mean anyway- but vague, shadowy presences like Mr X and Mr Y? That really gave her the shivers. This whole thing was beginning to sound decidedly creepy, like a cult gone wrong. At this point there was a scuffle at the back entrance to the hall. Some woman was screaming hysterically. Two of the men-in-black grabbed her arms, which were flailing around, pinning them behind her back. A couple of girls who were attempting to exit through the back door pointed accusingly at the black-clad figures. Sure as eggs in China, you’re members of a cult, said one of them.

Her friend joined in: Take your hands off her!

The ‘guardians’, dead-pan expressions on their faces, continued their unpleasant task of restraining the woman. If it’s this bad now, the first girl shouted, imagine what it’ll be like on that island.

We’ll be prisoners, shrieked her companion. Listen all of you, get out of here before it’s too late. And you, she flung her hands in the direction of the entrapped, shrieking woman, don’t let them take you away. But the two men stoically held the screaming woman. Sarah took a closer look at these men. As the one nearer to her held up his arm, she noticed that tattooed onto his forearm was the Crystal Island motif, in lurid purple. It was this very arm that descended on the squirming woman; there was a loud retort as he slapped her across the face. The hall erupted. All around, there was pandemonium as people rushed the doors to get away from the men, whom they clearly perceived as ‘the enemy’.

Although the woman had calmed down by now, she was still behaving unpredictably. Suddenly, she dipped her head forward, baring her teeth and biting on the clean arm of her captor. The man growled. Another man tugged, wrenching her away. The injury was mopped up with a handkerchief. Clearly, she had drawn blood. She screamed uncontrollably as she was pulled through one of the side doors. Sarah heard her shrieks and the background sound of an engine starting up. Sarah gripped her chair, an anchor in the midst of the chaos, and forced herself to stay put.

Where are they taking her? someone demanded.

Amanda leant into the microphone. Her booming voice was steady and calm: Don’t worry. That hysterical lady is not going far. She paused. Then, raising her eyebrows, an ironic smile on her face, she said, almost playfully: Perhaps she’ll even meet Mr X or Mr Y. In extreme cases, they have been known to leave Crystal Island.

Nobody appeared to be listening. Most people had vacated the hall.

Amanda waited for the few people left to settle down before saying in her trademark ironic tone: You might want to come closer. She paused dramatically at that point. She cast her eyes around the hall, looking meaningfully at the prospective ‘seekers’ who were left. When her gaze travelled to the back aisle chair on which Sarah was perched, she seemed to be flashing a searchlight into her very soul. Responding to Amanda’s hypnotic voice and her domineering presence, like an automaton, Sarah made her way to an aisle seat in the third row. To her relief, there was now no sign of the men-in-black. They all appeared to have melted away from the hall, perhaps to deal with that difficult woman, although ten to one was a bit extreme, but that wasn’t Sarah’s problem now.

As if nothing whatsoever had disturbed the peace of her presentation, Amanda’s commanding voice began again: There is only one compulsory event per ten-day cycle: your four-hour attendance in a communal hall where a question will be posed to you. There will be no lecture and, apart from the mural decorations which you are free to peruse, no information will be given to you, just the question which you will be expected to discuss at length with your fellow-seekers. Once again, I would like to impress upon you how very important these questions will be. Even if you have considered them before, you will get a fresh perspective which may result in your living life very differently when you get back from Crystal Island. Amanda waited for her searching gaze to have an impact before she continued speaking: After the session, you will be free to go. You may roam the island, relax, read up about your ‘question’ or visit the small village on the other side of the island. You are very welcome to mix with the local inhabitants who live there. However, you will have no communication with the outside world while you are on Crystal Island. During your time on the island, all your meals will be provided, your laundry done and your rooms serviced. There is no airport: you will be transported by boat to the island. A few people who were left started to dribble out. But after that, it seemed, anyone crazy enough still to be there appeared, at last, to be listening attentively. Maybe it was their proximity to Amanda’s searchlight eyes. On the island, there is a piano, a few guitars, plenty of books as already mentioned, even a basic costume wardrobe should you desire to dance or perform your own plays. As you may have gathered, you make your own entertainment on Crystal Island. Should you wisely decide to take this opportunity, bring one small suitcase and pack lightly: a couple of costumes, beach towels, hats, suntan, shorts, T-shirts, shirts and trainers. You may bring a light jersey but that is probably not necessary. Basic toiletries including soap, shampoo, deodorant and toothpaste will be provided. Don’t try to smuggle laptops, cell ‘phones, ipads or any other electronic equipment into your luggage. Any illicit material will be confiscated. You may bring your own books, although that is unnecessary. The organisers hope that you will take advantage of our extensive library. If you decide that you want to go you will have to act quickly. You will need to fill in a form which will be available on the table in the foyer shortly. The form will have to be emailed to our offices by tomorrow night at the latest. Should we feel that you could indeed benefit from the Crystal Island venture you will be contacted for an interview which will be held on Thursday or Friday of this week. The expedition leaves in ten days at exactly 7 am from the parking ground in front of this hall. So Monday, 25th April, I will be there to meet you. I do not expect you to commit to this venture now, although I believe that you will regret it if you do not avail yourself of this opportunity. You may unwisely change your mind about going. Nobody is forcing you onto Crystal Island. Why did that sound like a threat! Amanda gave the remaining ’ten men standing’ a pert, challenging smile, about-turned like a sergeant major and walked stiffly off the stage.

Weird! The voice of a retreating girl echoed her thoughts, but her own life wasn’t exactly packed full of exciting events. She could do worse than lounging around on a tropical island for seventy lazy days. In fact, what on earth did she have to lose! She wasn’t even particularly concerned about the treatment meted out to that woman in the hall. After all, she had been hysterical; the black-clad men were probably taking her home and trying to calm her down far from the glare of the spotlight. Sarah grabbed a form from the table and exited quickly. She banished all the vaguely disturbing thoughts from her mind as she drove home: she relaxed, talking herself into believing that this was going to be the easiest ten weeks she had ever had in her life: no laundry to do, no cooking to bother about, no crowds to fight through in supermarkets, and by the sound of it, not too much mental exertion either. This was going to be a breeze! What a leisurely life, free from the constraints of the classroom and the restraints of performing all those mundane, everyday tasks. Free to indulge herself in flights of fantasy, to allow her imagination to roam, unfettered.

And all she had to do was fill in a form, get past an interview, which she thought would be a mere formality considering the pathetic number of people who had been left at the end of the presentation, and turn up in the right place at the right time. She even felt a sense of excitement tingling in her veins; actually, elation is how she would put it. She was beginning to feel thrilled at the idea of a wonderful holiday in an idyllic setting; with the delicious realisation of being free for a whole seventy days. As soon as she got home, she made herself some coffee and sat at her kitchen table poring over the form, black pen in hand.

Chapter Two

The type of question on the form was completely unexpected. Not that Sarah had had much experience with form-filling; but even she knew that people were not expected to answer over-personal questions on documents of this nature. On this particular form, instead of having to fill in practical details like address, telephone number, bank account details and so on, she was being asked discomfortingly probing questions about her relationships with other people, particularly strangers, and about what she thought was important in life. The only ‘practical’ question was the one about her age, which she thought was a cheek-in-itself. In addition to this, there were some vague, ambiguous questions that she hadn’t a clue how to answer, like the one: ‘In which direction do you consider your life to be going?’ How on earth was she expected to answer a question like that! She had considered a facetious reply like: ‘North-East, straight to Crystal Island,’ but the memory of Amanda’s stern presence was a deterrent.

She was keen to go on this trip, so she couched her answers in words which she made as appealing as possible. When she looked over what she had written just before she emailed her document, she decided that her language was shamelessly emotive. But she sent the form anyway. Her responses might be a sham, but over-enthusiasm was not such a bad quality to cultivate. It niggled her, though, that she hadn’t been completely honest with the organisers, let alone with herself. She blushed as there, in black and white, she read over what was probably her most dishonest response: ‘I am still seeking a firm direction in life, but I think this trip will crystallise my thoughts for me on this score. I do, however, know that I am looking for adventure, new experiences, promising possibilities.’ What did all that garbage even mean? All those clichés - crystallise my thoughts; adventure; promising possibilities; new experiences - all so abstract. She had filled in the form deliberately quickly, not thinking very much about her answers beforehand. If they wanted to ask questions coated with generalities craftily, though, designed to get to the heart of who she was, then she felt fully justified in being just a little obtuse.

Somewhere in all those many questions, there had been a query about how she intended to spend her days on the island outside the compulsory four-hour discussions. As this was the most straight-forward question, she did manage to answer it honestly: ‘I intend to write a novel,’ she had admitted.

It turned out to be the first question she was faced with when she did indeed make it to her interview: So, you intend writing a novel on the island. Please, could you tell us what this novel will be about?

She remembered just staring at them, the panel of the four intimidating men-in-black who had barraged her with questions. She had, in fact, been second-footed the minute she walked into the small room adjoining the hall where the interview was conducted. She had been expecting Amanda only, with perhaps one other presence with her to see that everything ran smoothly. Not her body-guards, if this was the function of those towering men-in-black. A rude shock had jolted through her system when Mr Purple-Crystal-Island-Tattoo-Man had extended his arm for a shake the minute she entered the room. And there had been no sign of Amanda.

At first, this was a relief. But surprisingly, after the first five minutes of the interview, she began to wish for the woman’s commanding presence to give some structure to her interrogation. Over and over again, she asked herself whether she had given the ‘right’ answer to some tricky question, if indeed there was a ‘right’ answer. The men’s expressions remained deadpan, whatever answers she gave them. There wasn’t a hint of emotion in their eyes, mouths or postures. At least with Amanda, you could surmise what she was thinking from her body language, like when she leant forward and hypnotised them into going to the front.

In this awkward ‘interview’, without any preliminaries, the second shot was fired at her almost as soon as she had sat down: What is your purpose in life?

How on earth was she supposed to answer that to their satisfaction! She wasn’t even sure what world view they espoused, let alone what their belief system was. And there were four of them, whereas there was only one of her. At the very moment that she was asked that question, she realised just how much she wanted to go to Crystal Island. Her